


Nothing Happened

by 3monstereeter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Death Eaters, M/M, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3monstereeter/pseuds/3monstereeter
Summary: An interpretation of the wizarding war, okay, Evan?!   Because historical accusations of witchcraft were often warnings people had stepped outside the normal and allowed in a community, this is what they would be in a world with real wizards.   Deal with it.





	Nothing Happened

“There is a war on,” Ron said in his weaselly way. 

“Shut up,” Draco huffed, planting a bruising kiss on his lips. Ron Weasley still turned a most delicious shade of cherry red every time they kissed, and Draco couldn’t help but consider the Herbivicus Charm and making him bloom. Not that he needed magic for that. 

“Draco,” Ron whined. 

“This is the only war that matters,” Draco Malfoy whispered, but Ron was rather distracted by events underneath their robes to really understand him. 

“But Harry could come –,” Ron protested weakly. 

Draco doubted Harry could, not properly, but decided not to mention how much time Harry and been spending with Dobby lately. You don’t live under a cupboard for a decade and emerge functional, no matter what anyone else thinks. It was the only thing about Harry that Draco thought he understood. Not that his parents had been the same, but parents shape you in ways no charm ever could.

Every parent starts out casting Imperius on their children, and it always becomes Cruciatus in the end. Draco filed that away for later, because he was rather distracted in turn as Ron’s fingers ran underneath his own robes in turn. A war was coming, had come, but tonight was other things. There would be bruises in the morning, badges of honour that no healing spell would be used on. 

“You know they lied to us, don’t you Ron?” Draco panted. “The only wand that matters is the one that wants between your –.”

“There are other wands,” Ron replied, because debating with Hermione had sharpened his desire to have the final word. 

Draco gulped as Ron’s fingers explored his nether regions and quickly found his golden snitch. 

“Don’t,” Draco said, his voice a whine in turn. His own way of saying ‘please’. Even in this moment, please wasn’t a word a Malfoy knew. 

The battle continued. By now they knew each other better than any grimoire and there were kisses and nibbles and words never spoken as they drove each other to the lowest heights and the highest depths, desperate to make the other scream like a Mandrake first. 

Come the morning, they would say the words they always did: “Nothing happened.” 

But in the moment, bodies pressed together tightly, each found something in the other they were missing but could never name. 

But both knew it wasn’t love. 

*

Albus Dumbledore, meanwhile, was hard at work in the Headmaster's office. Every window was closed, and the portraits of previous and future masters – the latter which Dumbledore could barely see, but took some comfort in for all the wrong reasons – stared down as he filled out another form in his long list of requests to try and deny an OSHA inspection of Hogwarts. 

“Dumbledore,” Snape purred as he entered the office. 

Albus looked up at Severus, who at least in private did not look quite so severe. “Severus. In the nick of time. Another request for a student with a flying carpet....” He shook his head. “I have suggested St. Mungo’s, but the family is having none of it. This school barely accommodates children who are normal.” 

“Normal?” Severus said.

“You know what I mean,” Albus grumped. 

“I sometimes wonder, Dumbledore.” Severus glanced at the door. “Colloportus,” he said, and the door locked six times with each use of the spell. Even Minerva would take time to get through that. 

Albus opened the door to his personal quarters, lighting candles as Snape followed and locked that door as well. 

Albus took his time to admire the other man. Severus was young, fit and driven. Despite how naked his ambitions were, Severus did not enjoy being naked. Albus did not, but his reasons had more to do with age. Every time they had sex, he was reminded of how old he was in his skin and bones. 

“Severus.”

“Dumbledore.” Severus had never called him Albus, not once. But he did offer a thin, wintry smile. “I thought, perhaps, the headmaster could live up to that title tonight?”

Albus felt his face slowly turning the colour of Fawkes, even now. An open secret is still a secret; he did not know how Severus had become aware of his desires. But the other man had returned them, despite everything Albus knew about Lily Potter. He considered himself a rather good judge of character, and like all such people was not one at all. 

Severus never mentioned Grindelwald; he never mentioned any Potter. Neither of them ever spoke of riddles. Despite the desires of a younger man that ached within Albus, Severus was cold and distant. Their sex was like snaping indeed, fitting together in a cold calculus of need and want. 

They fucked, but they never kissed. And it had been so long for Albus that he never understood what was missing from their entanglements, for all they remained charmed and strange, switching out between up and town, top and bottom as the night progressed into evening. The lights had gone out, but both preferred the darkness. 

At least when it was dark, Albus could pretend he was not old and ugly. The shadows were not evil, but they did conceal, and concealment was all they both desired. 

Albus heard Snape stand and head to the door later, recovering far sooner than he would. 

“Severus,” he said, his voice querulous despite his will. 

“Nothing happened,” Severus Snape said. He did not turn around; it took several tries to do the Alohomora Charm, as his wand shook in his fingers, but Snape undid each lock and departed without a glance backwards. 

He found Minerva McGonagall waiting outside the tower, her eyes cold as only a cat could pull off at seeing its prey. 

“He is tired,” Severus said. “You let the Death Eaters in?”

“I did,” Minerva said flatly. “You have a plan?”

“I will be headmaster.” It was not a question, not quite. “Of course I have a plan.” 

Neither asked about how the other felt about Albus. Severus did not understand how Minerva could allow his – relationship – while having her own far poorer one with Dumbledore as well. Severus and Minivera had compared notes one night; Dumbledore never refused to spend the night with Severus. He often had excuses for Minerva; some of them she had once believed. Severus thought that night was responsible for this one, but in this he did not think back far enough. 

Minerva merely watched the Headmaster’s Tower, and if she had an inner monologue she hid it well. But even so, there was a sadness in her eyes that even the best Madam Pomfrey had to offer could not quite dilute. 

She wore her wedding ring, though left it invisible this evening. 

*

Draco Malfoy returned to his quarters later that night. He was tired and sore, his body aching in pleasant ways. 

“I trust your evening was far better than mere Quiddich?”

He spun to find Professor Snape bearing down on him, the other man not smiling at all.

“I –.” Draco fell silent, the memory of kisses and unexpected sweetness at the end dulling his usual wit. 

“You are wanted in the Headmaster’s Office,” Snape snapped. “Do not dawdle, Malfoy. You know what you must say.”

Draco’s eyes widened. The Fidelius Charm within him burned. He gripped his wand hard and made his way toward the tower, unaware of the illusionment cast upon him as he departed. 

Draco Malfoy made his way to the Headmaster’s Tower and into the office, and such was his state of affairs that he did not notice a cat watching him. All he could think was ‘what will Ron think of me?’ but he knew he had gone too far to stop now. 

Dumbledore was in his office, looking tired and haggard. He looked up as Draco entered, confused. 

“Something happened,” Draco said, the words he has been asked to say. He was briefly puzzled, as his voice sounded odd to his ears but Ron had made him scream more than once and he thought it only his vocal chords hurting slightly. 

Dumbledore stood up slowly, a look of wonder on his weathered face. “You mean that?” 

Distract him, had been the order. It would take time for everyone else to arrive, and Draco Malfoy knew only one way to distract men. 

He removed his robe, naked underneath it. 

Albus Dumbledore froze. “You did not lock the door,” he said, sounding giddy with fear and joy both.

Draco froze in turn, no longer certain what was going on. But the moment was taken from him as the Death Eaters entered slowly, one after another. Their gazes fell on him, but focused on Albus Dumbledore.

“Disgusting. Monster,” they said, whispering judgments in voices that shook Draco to the core. Those same words would be used against him and Ron, if they ever knew. But they did not. 

Dumbledore stood, trying to face their faces, but his resolve crumbled. “Please. What use is magic, if we cannot be happy?” 

“There is no happiness that comes at the ruin of another,” the Death Eaters said. “You destroy McGonagall with your secrets, and to think you go this far. With a student you monster!” 

“But this is –.” And Dumbledore froze, this time in fear, as Snape entered behind the Death Eaters. “You’re not –.” He stared at Malfoy, and then at Snape.

Draco felt the illusion vanish, the one that must have made him appear to be Snape. A dozen questions whirled through him, each more painful than the last. But the Death Eaters has only seen a student, and the headmaster. 

“Judgment,” they said, but Draco froze. 

“Judgment,” Snape said, and cast the spell for him. 

They watched Albus Dumbledore fall from grace as much as from life as the Charm of Propriety struck home and Albus Dumbledore tried to fight it, to give voice to his true self but he was shaken and afraid and too old to be honest. 

Draco wept, young enough to be honest. 

Severus Snape did not, though he did turn away at the end. 

Minerva McGonagall came in after, stared at the weeping ruin that had been a Headmaster. “To St. Mungo’s with him, I feel,” she said, and looked at Snape. “If that is your request, Headmaster?”

“It is,” Snape said, and his voice was so steady that only Draco noticed how tight the man’s nails dug into his palm. 

“The Dark Mark has been cast,” the Death Eaters said. “His sins are known, and craven repentance denied him.”

“Remove the mark,” Severus Snape said harshly.

All eyes turned on him, but only Minerva and Draco held judgment. 

“Nothing happened,” Snape said. “The truth will only cause others to deviate from being proper wizards as well.” 

The words were ashes on his tongue, but he had become used to ashes. You did, when you could not allow yourself to burn. The Death Eaters smiled, and they departed. 

Everyone left. Snape had not cast a spell. There was no need for magic, not in this.

*

Draco sat in his room later. Crabbe and Goyle had asked questions, but Draco had only single-word answers. An owl arrived later, from his father. Listing women eligible to bear the Malfoy name. A wizard took a wife, because there were too many Muggles. He had a few years still, before there would be questions. 

Marrying Astoria would prevent them, but even so. She at least was not as driven as others in having a child who was a pure-blood, and Draco would be more than content if he was not the father. But Ron – that was a question Draco had no answer for, and in the cold, clear light of the evening he was too afraid to ask it. 

He almost invited Ron to his quarters one evening, weeks later, but by then it was perhaps too late.


End file.
